


we couldn't bring the columns down

by extasiswings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Backstory, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Flirting, The Alchemical Wedding, The Shadows Among The Stars, The Trash Is Strong With This One, They're So Bad At Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 11:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: Maria is three hundred and forty-two years old when she first lays eyes on the love of her life. Although, if anyone had told her that at the time, she would have laughed in their face.[Or: A priestess meets a soldier and it sparks a love that lasts three thousand years. At least, after a few...missteps.]





	we couldn't bring the columns down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qqueenofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qqueenofhades/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the shadows among the stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646489) by [qqueenofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qqueenofhades/pseuds/qqueenofhades). 

> So, I wrote this about...a month ago? Because TSAS chapter 15 happened and my brain went baCKSTORY???? Anyway, I'm obsessed with these two and this universe and qqueenofhades has been kind enough to let me play in her sandbox so. I hope you all enjoy these losers as much as we do.

Maria is three hundred and forty-two years old when she first lays eyes on the love of her life. Although, if anyone had told her that at the time, she would have laughed in their face. 

She meets Asherios Athos, perhaps understandably, at a festival. Not one she was responsible for, not one she was even planning to attend beyond making a cursory appearance as a high priestess of Artemis. But, several of the young ladies under the care of the temple had begged to go and someone needed to supervise them. 

It’s pure happenstance that she happens to walk by the right—or wrong, rather—alleyway when she does, just in time to hear a feminine gasp that sounds pained enough to give her pause. 

“Hello?” Maria calls out as she darts down the narrow passage, her eyes adjusting to the shadows easily. She freezes at the sight of the man in soldier’s garb at the end of it, one arm wrapped around a woman from behind, another disappearing under her skirt. But that’s not what gives her pause—no, that would be the sight of his mouth slick with blood when he lifts his head from the woman’s neck, the black eyes and sharp fangs that match her own. 

She hadn’t realized that men could be vampires. She’s not sure she likes that fact. 

“Let her go,” Maria demands, her voice a low hiss as she feels her own fangs extend. The man blinks, his eyes clearing as he licks his lips clean. He dares to pass his tongue over the woman’s neck one final time, closing up the marks from his fangs and Maria’s nails bite into her palms. 

“My lady,” he greets quietly, stepping back and raising his hands. “Whatever you think is happening here, I can assure you I have the woman’s full consent.” 

“You understand, I assume, that I’m disinclined to take you at your word.”

He takes another step back and gestures to his partner. “By all means, ask her yourself.”

Maria bites back a swear when she realizes it’s a woman she knows—Magda, a local widow who lives in her late husband’s house with her sisters and young son. She drops her eyes as Maria approaches, but only after Maria catches them briefly and registers the truth—embarrassment, but not violation. 

“Priestess,” Magda whispers, her face flaming. “I’m so—I’m—“

“Hush,” Maria pressing a hand to the other woman’s cheek and a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not angry with you, my dear one. Run along home to your sisters and come to the temple tomorrow and we will never speak of this again.”

The soldier doesn’t say a word as Magda squeezes Maria’s hands and dashes out, throwing one last longing and apologetic look over her shoulder at him. Maria rolls her eyes and crosses her arms before turning to face him. 

He’s lounging against the wall, a lazy smile on his lips despite the fact that she’s thoroughly interrupted his evening plans. 

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” she says. “I don’t know who you are—“

“Asherios Athos, at your service, Priestess,” he interrupts. “Although Asher is perfectly acceptable.”

Maria presses her lips together for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know who you are,” she repeats, “but the women in this town are not toys for your amusement, and I will thank you to stay well clear of them.”

Asher pushes off the wall, although he doesn’t lose the smile. “With respect, Priestess, I have never treated a woman like a toy. Nor have I ever left one anything other than deeply satisfied.” His smile grows as his gaze heats and sweeps over her. “Which, I would be more than happy to demonstrate to alleviate any...concerns.”

It’s far from the first time a man has looked at her with desire, but it’s the first time in a long time that such a look has made Maria’s stomach twist. But, she pushes that feeling down and narrows her eyes, stepping back to put space between them. 

“That won’t be necessary,” she replies waspishly. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice dropping low. His hand catches her wrist, his thumb passing over it deliberately. “I seem to have found myself with a free evening. And I can be quite...thorough.”

Maria yanks her hand back. 

“I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t know me,” he corrects. “Perhaps you should give me a chance, Priestess. You might like me.”

“I doubt that.”

She starts walking away and he follows, keeping pace easily as she emerges out onto the street. 

“Come on,” he coaxes. “Have a drink with me. One drink.”

“I don’t drink with soldiers.”

The festival is still going on, and there are plenty of people out, raucous laughter and music and freely-flowing wine all around. But Maria just wants to collect her charges and go home. 

“What’s wrong with soldiers?”

“What isn’t?” 

She finds one of her girls and directs her off to find the others. 

“Yes, Maria,” the girl murmurs before running off, and Maria winces before turning back. 

“That’s a lovely name,” Asher remarks. “And here I thought I would have to call you Priestess all night.”

Maria’s answering smile is a knife’s edge. “If you wish to keep your tongue, you will.”

“Fair enough.” For the briefest of moments, she thinks that might be it, but he only pauses long enough to gather his thoughts before asking another question. “Which temple?”

She doesn’t sigh aloud, but it’s a near thing. “Artemis.” 

“Ah. I might have guessed.” His tone is entirely too sure, as if he’s worked out a puzzle, and Maria cuts her eyes at him sidelong, decidedly certain she doesn’t like that at all. 

“And why is that?”

Asher waves a hand and snags an abandoned cup of wine off a nearby stall. “Daughters of Artemis, vows of chastity and so forth. And you do seem…tense. I imagine that must take a toll for an immortal.”

Maria stares. Asher drinks, then offers her the cup when he looks back to her.

“My earlier offer stands, though,” he adds. “If you ever wished to deal with that…tension.”

_Right_. Recognizing that she cannot, in fact, murder another vampire in the middle of a public square, she delicately takes the offered cup. She considers it for a moment, as if the dark liquid within might have any answers for her as to what she possibly could have done to attract such an utter fool to her side, allows Asher long enough to smile at her again…

…and then promptly tosses the contents in his face. 

He sputters, wine dripping off of him and staining the lighter parts of his tunic. And yet, to Maria’s surprise, he doesn’t grow annoyed or angry or lash out. He laughs. 

“Well played,” he says, wiping his face with a broad hand and looking entirely more delighted than she thinks he really ought to.

“Maria! Maria!” The arrival of the girls from the temple offers a welcome distraction, and she turns to them with a smile.

“All here then?” She asks, glancing over the assembled group to check that everyone has in fact returned as she intended. “Good. Let’s be off.”

“I’ll see you around, Priestess,” Asher calls after her, and Maria tries not to pay any attention to the curious looks the girls shoot between the two of them, the quiet whispers and giggles.

_Not if I can help it_, she thinks. And then she tries to put Asherios Athos out of her mind and prays to the goddess that he’ll do the same.

* * *

He comes to the temple the next day. 

Not, of course, that Maria realizes at first. She’s in the middle of her regular duties when she hears a giggle on the other side of a curtain and spies an unfortunately familiar figure when she elects to investigate. 

“Alleria.” Her voice cracks like a whip off the stone walls, and the younger priestess immediately looks over and blushes. “Don’t you have chores to be attending to?”

“Yes, Maria,” she admits. “This…gentleman was just asking where he might find you. I was going to show him.”

“I’m sure you were,” Maria replies, narrowing her eyes at Asher, who looks far too pleased with himself for her liking. “Well, I’m here now, so clearly there’s no need for further distractions, is there?”

“No, Maria. Priestess. I’ll just—“ The young woman dashes off and Asher presses his lips together to hold back a laugh.

“There’s no need to be jealous, my dear priestess. I’m here for you after all,” he says. 

Maria doesn’t bother trying to address that. 

“Did you have a question about the temple?” She asks instead. 

“It’s a temple,” Asher replies. “If I somehow managed to not learn how one works over my many centuries of life, I don’t think asking now would help.”

“The goddess, then?” Maria offers. “Perhaps you were curious about our practices or appropriate offerings?”

His brow furrows. “…no, I don’t believe so.”

“So then your only purpose in coming here was to disrupt my work and distract my girls.” It’s not a question, and the way his mouth twitches only confirms it.

Maria arches a brow and flicks her gaze disdainfully over the soldier. “I’ve killed men for less.”

“Ah, but I’m no ordinary man,” he replies. He’s handsome, she can grant him that—the smile he sends her way is charming and brilliant, and if she were fifteen and didn’t know better, it would likely be enough to make her blush and cast her eyes down just as Alleria had. But she is no longer fifteen, nor a mortal woman, and so her primary reaction is irritation. 

“More’s the pity.” _If you were perhaps I could get you to leave me alone._

His smile dims. “Priestess—“

“Good day to you,” Maria says before he can draw her into any further conversation. And at that, she turns on her heel and walks out. She doesn’t look back. And once more, she doesn’t expect to see him again.

Except, Asher doesn’t leave her alone. He isn’t quite as bold again—he comes to the temple almost every day for months, every day he isn’t off fighting somewhere or other—but he at least pretends to be there for reasons distinct from her. He’ll make offerings and shoot her stray glances whenever she’s in sight, but he doesn’t bother the other priestesses or sweet-talk them into letting him talk to her. He’s just...there. 

Artemis, give her strength. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to _do_ about it. 

(Sometimes, she thinks she wouldn’t mind having another vampire to talk to, to make her feel less alone in the wide, gaping chasm of time that is immortality. But he would need to stop flirting with her for that, and so, they continue on with the status quo.) 

When they do talk, usually by chance, it’s more of the same, quick wit and sharp tongues. And he is...handsome and charming and clearly more than the oversexed swaggering fool that his persona suggests—that much she can acknowledge—but as long as he insists on acting as such, she ends their interactions feeling exhausted and annoyed. Even if she were inclined to be charmed by his glances and grazes and obvious attempts at seduction, there’s no way she could give in. 

And then...something strange happens. 

Earlier in the week in question, a woman arrives at the temple, heavy with child and yet covered in bruises and marks. And so Maria elects to do what she has done for centuries. 

She takes care of it all. 

By the time she returns from her…errand, it’s late enough that night will soon be bleeding into morning, although since she doesn’t need to sleep as much as a human, it isn’t such a concern. For a moment, she considers bypassing the temple and going elsewhere—as high priestess, she has property of her own even if she rarely uses it. But she prefers to spend most nights in the temple instead. And especially tonight—

“Late night, Priestess.”

Maria freezes with her hand on the door, her hood falling back to uncover her face. There’s a strange energy about Asher, something much more solemn and subdued than she expects from him. She’s almost inclined to wonder if he’s drunk, but his eyes are clear. 

“Yes,” she acknowledges. “Although I don’t see how that’s any concern of yours.”

Asher laughs quietly, but there’s an edge to it. Tired and more bitter than he’s ever shown her. 

“You smell like death,” he says. “Poison and blood and sick. Am I wrong?”

She has no reason to lie to him. “No. You’re not wrong.”

He nods once and leans back against a column, dropping deeper into shadow. He’s quiet for once, so quiet that she wonders if that’s it, if she should go inside because there’s nothing more to say. But then he speaks again. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“I think you just did,” she replies. “But you can ask something else.”

Asher wets his lips and closes his eyes, tipping his head up. 

“You hate me,” he says, holding up a hand when she opens her mouth to protest the strength of the word. “No, let’s not lie to one another. But my question is—we’re both killers, you and I. So why is what you do different from what I do? How can you hate me for being a soldier when you’re just one of a different kind?” 

“Being a killer doesn’t make me a soldier,” Maria replies, feeling strangely off balance. 

“What’s the difference?” Asher asks. “Because you’re not part of an army? Because you don’t take orders?”

“Because when I kill a man, it matters,” she bites back. “It’s for a reason. Because of what I did tonight, there is a woman whose husband will never raise a hand to her or any other woman ever again and I feel no guilt over that. But you—“

Maria cuts herself off, and when she looks over, Asher’s jaw is tight. He’s not looking at her. 

“By all means, Priestess, do continue,” he says. 

She almost doesn’t. Something about the air, the subject, the night itself has left her feeling rawer, sharper than she usually does, and she thinks she’s drawn enough blood elsewhere for one night. But she’s also frustrated, endlessly frustrated with him, and if he wants her honesty, perhaps she should give it. 

“I don’t dislike you because you’ve killed, you know,” she replies evenly. “It’s everything else. You soldiers fight your senseless wars—trading one mortal tyrant for another as they squabble over power and land and women or whatever else—and call it glory. And then you come home and swagger about as if all of that _glory_ means something. As if it entitles you to something—to take whatever you want without consequence. And in my experience, most of you do.”

Asher makes a sound like she’s struck him, although she can’t fathom why. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but shuts it abruptly before he does, and one of his hands comes up to his face, swiping over it. He looks old, suddenly. Still as attractive as ever, but with the weight of centuries settling over him. 

Maria feels like there’s something she’s missing. 

“If that is truly what you think of me, Priestess, I pray your forgiveness for taking up so much of your time,” he says quietly. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

He pushes off the column and turns away, and Maria feels the weight of a finality she’s not sure she wants drop into her stomach. 

“Wait,” she calls, and Asher stops in his tracks. “Why did you come here tonight?”

He’s silent for a long moment, and then he shakes his head. 

“It doesn’t matter. Live well.” 

True to his word, Maria doesn’t see him again. That is, until she does.

* * *

The temple is attacked two weeks later. Hundreds of soldiers marching on it, and Maria is...afraid. She could run, of course she could, but her girls—no, she couldn’t abandon them to their fate. So she stays, and she waits, prepared to rip through as many soldiers as she can, despite knowing that even her immortal strength can’t topple an entire army. 

Three and a half centuries is a far longer life than most get. She comforts herself with that. 

Maria has a knife in her hand when the door finally bursts open, but it clatters to the ground when she sees that it’s Asher, only Asher, and just like that she knows they’re safe. She doesn’t even need to hear him say it—she knows. 

He’s covered in blood—his face, his hands, his armor. And he’s practically shaking, his eyes wild, darting about until they land on her. He starts forward, reaching out for half a moment before stopping in his tracks and pulling back, as though he’s desperate to touch but unsure if he’s allowed. 

_Well_, Maria thinks as she darts forward and throws herself into his arms, _just the once._

She doesn’t care that her chiton is growing filthy and stained, she doesn’t think about being a daughter of Artemis as Asher falls to his knees and presses his lips to her hair, her cheek, her forehead—wherever he can reach. She lets him cling and clings in her own right, her nails biting into the back of his neck, her other hand in his hair as she clutches him to her, as he tucks his face into her neck and breathes her in until he stops shaking. 

No matter what passed between them before in the shadows of the temple walls, clearly she wasn’t the only one who was afraid. 

(She’s missed him. She thought she wouldn’t, but for all her exasperation, he brings something into her life—a light, a passion that’s been sorely missing from the monotony of her days.)

“Priestess?” It’s one of the young ones, only there to learn the Arkteia and pay her respects to the goddess before stepping into womanhood. Maria takes a shaky breath before pulling away from Asher’s embrace and turning to face her. 

“Yes, dear one?” 

“Is it over?”

Maria looks back at Asher and he nods once. 

“Yes,” she assures, running a soothing hand over the girl’s cheek. “No need to worry anymore. We’re safe.”

There’s a brief flurry of activity and relief from all the temple occupants, and Maria finds herself turning back to Asher. 

“I...I don’t know what to say,” she admits. 

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to say anything. I merely needed to make sure—I should leave you to your duties, I’m sure you have plenty to do.”

Except, when he tries to rise from his knees, he staggers, enough that Maria finds herself steadying him without even thinking. Once she really looks, she realizes that while most of the blood isn’t his, some of it is, that his arms and other exposed places bear various scrapes and slashes, several of which are still bleeding sluggishly. 

“Asher—“ It’s barely a whisper, and he blinks in surprise before managing a faint smile. 

“I’ll be fine, Priestess,” he says. “It’ll take a lot more than a rundown army and a few scratches to kill me.”

“Still.” Maria reaches for one of the more vicious ones, pulling back before she actually touches it. She makes up her mind then and there. “The least we can do is get you cleaned up and given something to wear that isn’t covered in blood.”

“If you insist,” Asher replies, and she thinks it’s a testament to how worn out he truly is that he doesn’t argue. Frankly, she wouldn’t put it past him to try his luck in the public baths and faint for his trouble. No, far better to stay where she can—where _someone_ can keep an eye on him. 

They’re quiet at first—Maria leads him to a private room and requests water be brought, but doesn’t otherwise enlist the assistance of anyone else. She tells herself it’s because someone else might notice injuries healing faster than humanly possible and raise questions, but part of it is that it just feels like it should be her. She doesn’t want anyone else to touch him, she doesn’t want anyone else to take care of him. Not in this. 

She tries not to look at that too hard. 

(She also tries to valiantly ignore the fact that once he strips off his filthy armor and clothing, he’s naked but for a spare bit of cloth wrapped around his waist, but her success in that is far more limited once she realizes she does, in fact, have to touch him to accomplish her goal for keeping him there to begin with.)

Asher doesn’t say a word beyond a murmured thanks when she washes the dirt and blood and sweat off his chest and legs, but he does watch her in the silence. Carefully, as though she’s a puzzle he doesn’t know how to solve. 

But finally, the silence is too oppressive for comfort and she breaks it. 

“Did you know I was still here?”

“I suspected,” he admits. “I didn’t think you were the type to save yourself just to leave innocents to suffer.”

“But you didn’t know.”

“Not for certain, no.”

Maria allows that to sink in, to coalesce with the other thoughts she can’t help musing over. When they last spoke, she had all but accused him, assumed he was no different from any other man she had come across in her many years. And yet, another Athenian soldier may have cared about the temple out of a sense of possession, that an invading army would dare attack property, _women_, of the city-state. 

But he did this for her. To protect her. To protect the people she cares for, even on the chance that she herself had left. 

And then he tried to leave—clearly, he had not done it for her gratitude or out of the pursuit of any particular benefit. 

It’s a maddening conundrum. 

“Why—“ Maria clears her throat as she wrings out the cloth and walks behind him, glad for the excuse to avoid his eyes. “The last time I saw you…why did you come? You seemed…not yourself.”

It’s only their physical proximity that allows her to notice the infinitesimal way Asher tenses. 

“Does it matter?” He asks.

“I think it does,” she admits, wiping away another streak of grime from the back of his neck. 

He sighs and rakes a hand through his tangled curls. “I—“ 

For a moment, she thinks he won’t tell her, but then he starts over. “There was a man in another regiment,” he says quietly. “And he suggested that if I was truly having such difficulty capturing the attentions of…a particular woman, then perhaps I should merely…insist. He was run through before I even realized I had drawn my sword. And I suppose I wanted…I don’t know.”

Maria is not a fool. She is perfectly capable of hearing everything that Asher has taken pains to not make explicit—that he killed a man for suggesting he should do one of the very things she had thrown in his face later that night. 

Her throat tightens with no small measure of shame, and she is suddenly glad he cannot see her face for an entirely different reason. 

“I owe you an apology,” she says quietly a few beats later when she can make her voice work again. 

“You certainly do not,” Asher replies. 

“No. No, I do, I—“ She stops and clears her throat before starting again.

“I find you arrogant,” Maria admits. “Reckless, insincere, and often ridiculous, but—“

Asher lets out a short laugh. “By the gods, Priestess, if that’s you trying to save my pride—“

“_But_,” she repeats, cutting him off, “despite whatever that may suggest, you are also...a good man. And in that I misjudged you.”

The cloth stills on his shoulder as he reaches around, settling his hand over hers. 

“I don’t blame you,” he admits. “I did nothing to commend myself to your graces.”

“Still,” Maria says. “I…am sorry. And I would quite like for you to resume your visits. If you would like.”

His lips quirk up briefly, and his eyes close. “You know, they were always to see you. Not that I don’t respect the goddess, but…”

He lifts his hand and Maria pulls away to wet the cloth once more. He’s said nothing new, nothing she didn’t already know all too well. But the atmosphere between them feels different. Fragile. Soft. It means something to hear it outright. 

Her heart squeezes.

“You should feed,” she says quietly, casting about for a new subject as she gently passes the cloth over a healing but still-open slash across his arm. “It would help these heal faster.” 

“It’ll keep.” Asher’s voice is just as soft, and as he turns his head, she finds herself shifting under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. Even if she doesn’t meet it, she knows he’s looking, and for once it doesn’t make her uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, it’s unsettling. 

(For once, she thinks she might like that he’s looking. For once, she might want him to. And that—what is she supposed to do with that?)

Maria sets the cloth back in the bowl of water and steps back, clearing her throat, trying to put just that little bit of space between them. 

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” she replies. “I could go—“

“Maria.” His hand settles on her wrist again—the lightest touch for the briefest moment—pulling away when her eyes shoot to his, breath that she doesn’t need catching in her throat. His gaze is steady, clear, and full of things she dares not acknowledge. “It’ll keep.”

Maria looks at the door, even knowing the likelihood of anyone interrupting her is slim. There’s an idea whispering in the back of her mind that feels dangerous, that she knows even without examining it too closely could lead to possibilities she’s not sure she can explore. But there’s an equally logical voice as well, noting that it would be easy, is in fact the simplest solution, that it doesn’t have to mean anything—

Her eyes flick back to him as her lip catches between her teeth. 

He did save her life...

“But it doesn’t have to.” With only a flicker of remaining hesitation, Maria extends her fangs, lifts her wrist to her mouth, and cuts it. The brief flash of pain isn’t enough to distract her from Asher’s sharp intake of breath, and when she sits next to him and holds her wrist out, his surprise is written in every line of him. 

His fingers wrap gently around her hand, his thumb pressing into her palm, stroking lightly. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says quietly. “Not a thing.”

Maria swallows against the sudden dryness of her throat. “I know. I—I want to.”

Asher looks away from her and nods once, then, delicate as anything, lifts her wrist to his lips. 

It’s like a kiss—it could be a kiss, really—and even the faint prick when he widens her incision doesn’t _hurt_ so much as—

She bites back a sound at how good it feels, tries not to think of anything incriminating, but when he finally does pull away, pressing a real kiss to the closing marks, she can’t help the shiver that sweeps through her. 

“Thank you...Priestess.” Asher’s voice is unsteady, and he doesn’t look at her. 

_Maria_, she wants to say, already missing the shape of it in his mouth. But she doesn’t, pushing herself up from the bench, feeling unsteady herself. 

“You’re welcome.”

She picks up the cloth again and quickly wipes away the last smear of blood from his skin before stepping back. There’s a fresh tunic that one of the others had brought in along with the water, and Maria nods in the direction of it before stepping towards the door. 

“I should let you dress,” she acknowledges. 

Asher nods, and Maria turns away.

“Priestess,” he says, before she leaves.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She bites back a smile as she slips out of the room.

* * *

Everything changes after that. When Asher comes to the temple, they speak, but they do not fight. There is no desire to cut when their words and minds clash, merely enjoyment. Delight. 

They slip easily into friendship, into quiet companionship. Sometimes, they take walks together in the evenings. Sometimes, they’ll go up to the top of a hill and sit and talk and eat together. Once he invites her to run with him, and the exhilaration that sparks through her afterwards when their eyes meet, the heat that floods into her blood rocks her to the core.

(It’s also reflected in his eyes when he looks at her, and the more they spend time together, the more time passes, the more she likes that he looks at her that way. The more she wants.)

When he finally kisses her, it’s nearly a month after the first time she expected him to. They’re sitting on a hill overlooking Athens, and he curves his hand around the back of her neck and waits for her to lean in like he’s afraid she’s going to shove him back, to reprimand him or pull away. Her heart flutters as their mouths catch for the first time, the first time she’s been kissed in several lifetimes, and she struggles not to throw herself at him, to just give herself entirely over to want. 

Over the next week, the next month, they push boundaries. Always at her pace, always with what she wants, but Maria wants everything, she wants all of him, and it gets harder and harder to say goodbye at the end of each evening. 

The walls she built up during her human life, during her marriage—every hour with Asher chips away slowly at them. She stares at the ceiling at night, tossing and turning on her cot, fighting the urge to skim her fingers over her thighs and inward. She starts imagining a life beyond the temple, in bits and pieces, and it is…terrifying and wonderful and she doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how to think about any of it.

Finally, Maria just gives in. 

Asher walks her home after yet another night on the hill—not to the temple, but to her small house, where she has been spending more and more time in recent weeks—and he kisses her one final time on her doorstep before wishing her a good night.

But she doesn’t want him to go. Gods, she doesn’t want him to go. 

And so, she doesn’t let him.

“Asher.” Maria catches his hand and he stills, his throat working as he swallows. 

“Yes?”

She could ask, could give him space to deny her or, more likely, give herself time to talk herself out of it, to come up with more excuses why she shouldn’t. But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans up on her toes, pulls him down to meet her, and kisses him. 

She wants to drown in it. One of Asher’s arms wraps around her waist as his free hand settles on her hip and he kisses her like he might be drowning as well. There is an element of restraint to it, a tension in his body like he’s holding back, trying not to push, to overwhelm, but Maria _wants_ to be overwhelmed. 

She wants to be touched by hands that aren’t her own. She’s been waiting three centuries. That’s more than long enough. 

“I should—“ Asher breaks the kiss, his hand flexing hard on her hip. “—I should take my leave.”

“You should come inside,” Maria corrects. 

“Maria...” His eyes search her face, and there’s that restraint again—she can tell that he wants her, he’s wanted her since they met, but there’s—concern? Doubt? 

She kisses him again, then again, then again. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, no one ever taught her how to seduce a man, but she moves slow, does what feels right, what feels good, and Asher finally groans against her mouth and lets her tug him through the door. 

“Please,” she breathes against his lips, her breath catching when he picks her up, pressing her back against the wall as she wraps her legs around his waist for leverage. His hands are everywhere, firm but still gentle, and she’s dizzy with the heat of it. 

Is this what it’s meant to be like? Asher’s mouth leaves hers and travels down her neck, nipping lightly at her skin between kisses, and her head falls back against the wall, eyes closing as he takes the extra access to explore further. 

Maria wants to touch him as well, but she can’t think, can’t make her hands do much more than clutch at his shoulders, his hair, the back of his neck. She wants him closer, wants his skin against hers—

She wants. 

“There’s a bed in the next room,” she manages, and Asher lifts his head to meet her eyes again. 

“Are you—“ He chokes off when she rolls her hips against his, biting back a moan of her own when she feels him against her through fabric. 

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes, I’m sure, please—“

Asher kisses her again then, and adjusts his grip on her before walking through the doorway. She expects him to put her on her back, maybe on her knees, but he does neither, sitting on the edge of the bed when he reaches it and pulling her into his lap. Her hands slide over his chest, delving through fabric to find the clasp that will let her at skin, and he laughs quietly against her lips. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, one hand stroking down her spine. “We have time, my love.”

That cuts through the haze. 

“Your...”

His free hand slides up her thigh, under her skirt, as he kisses along her jaw to her ear. 

“My love,” he repeats as his fingers find where she’s slick and aching. “My love, my love, my love.”

Maria closes her eyes against a swell of emotion, presses her face to his neck. It’s easy enough to pretend she’s just overwhelmed by the touch, by the way his fingers slip inside her, so much thicker than her own, and seek out all the places that make her shiver and shake and cry out. It _is_ overwhelming. 

But so are the words. So is he. So is the realization that she wants to stay with him, that she wants things with him she never thought she ever would, not in a thousand lifetimes. 

She bites him when the tension inside her snaps, entirely unable to help herself, and as his blood floods over her tongue she feels the sincerity in it, _love love love_ bright and warm like the summer sun. 

Asher hums when she pulls away, a lazy smile playing around his mouth. 

“Beautiful.”

“What?” She asks. 

“You.” 

The softness of his voice and the look in his eyes make it impossible for Maria to muster an eye roll or a witty deflection. Oh, she’s used to compliments, when someone wants something from her. But not like this, when it’s just sincere, when there’s no reason for it other than that he apparently was simply compelled to say it. 

She looks away, feeling oddly like she would blush if she could. 

“Do you doubt it?” Asher asks, finally finding the clasp of her chiton and undoing it, getting his hands into the folds of the fabric and pushing it off her shoulders until she’s bare before him. 

“You are,” he insists, flipping them to press her into the bed, kissing down her neck first, then mouthing at her breasts, down her stomach—he slides off the bed and settles on his knees, looking up at her with dark eyes from between her spread thighs. 

“The most beautiful creature ever created.” His lips play over her thighs and her eyes cross. 

“I think there are some goddesses who might object to that assessment,” Maria acknowledges, her voice trembling as she looks down at him through half-lidded eyes. 

“Let them,” Asher replies, continuing his delicious tease, lips curving up into a smirk. “That doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Wars have been started over comments like that.” He can’t possibly be doing what she thinks, is he? Is he?

Asher chuckles and licks a stripe through her folds—Maria gasps, her hips jerking up. _Oh._

“Oh, dear Helen was fair enough,” he says. “But not nearly so much as you.”

“The—ah—“ Maria claws at the bed with one hand, grips his hair with the other, unsure if she wants to pull him closer or push him away. “—the face that—launched a thousand ships.”

His fingers find her again, drawing her up and up and up, until he stops and pulls back, pressing soft kisses to her thigh again. 

“I never understood that, you know,” he says quietly, all trace of teasing gone from his voice. His eyes are dark and deeply serious. “Waging war over a woman. But now—“

Maria cards her fingers through his hair as her heart flies. 

“Now?”

Asher kisses her hip, traces a path back up her body with his mouth until he settles with a hand on either side of her head. But she doesn’t feel caged. She feels...safe. 

“I would fight a war for you,” he breathes, lips catching her chin, her jaw, her ear. “I would fight a thousand, a hundred thousand wars if you wished it. I would scale Mount Olympus and fight the very gods themselves if they stole you away—“

Maria claps her hand over his mouth, both elated at the sentiment and stricken with terror that the gods might hear, might take offense and take him away from her as punishment. And she can’t, she _can’t_ lose him. She has never _needed_ anyone, never loved like this, in this way that makes her feel like she could shake apart from the force of it and only his arms can steady her. 

Asher kisses her palm, then her lips when she finally draws it away. 

“I don’t need you to fight the gods for me,” Maria says, finally, _finally_ getting his clothing off. “I just need you.”

“You have me.” Asher turns them again so she’s settled above him with her knees on either side of his hips, still unfamiliar but far from unpleasant. “In whatever way you want me. For as long as you want me.”

Maria presses her forehead to his, biting her lip when she rocks her hips, not taking him inside her just yet but testing the waters, working through her nerves. 

“We’re immortal,” she points out. “That could be a very long time.” 

He nips at her neck and steadies her hips to grind up against her. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “It certainly could be.”

_I love you_. It’s on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t say it. Instead, she presses it into his mouth with her kisses, says it with her body when she finally sinks down onto him, shivering and gasping and burning up from the inside out. She grips his hair and pulls him to her neck when she starts to shake apart, cries out and holds him there when he draws blood, lets him drink his fill and doesn’t hide her thoughts. 

Their kind has other ways of speaking than mere words after all. 

And after, she curls around Asher, tangling their limbs until she’s as close to him as she can possibly get, his fingers stroking lightly down her spine. 

“I meant it, you know,” he says finally. “Maria, I—I’m yours. I don’t want anyone else, I can’t imagine wanting anyone else. For as long as I live.”

If her heart could beat, Maria is fairly certain it would have stopped. 

“That...sounds an awful lot like a proposal.”

She lifts her head from his chest and meets his eyes. 

Asher wets his lips. “What if it was?”

“You would really want that? Me? Forever?”

“Yes.” And he’s so certain, so sure, the conviction clear in his voice. “Maria...”

He kisses her until she sighs and keeps his forehead pressed to hers even once he pulls away. 

“Come away with me. Tonight, tomorrow, next week—it doesn’t matter, just say you will. Please.”

Maria thinks about her life, thinks about the fact that she knew the moment she pulled him through her door that she was making a choice that would change everything. She can’t go back to the temple now anyway—everyone knows the goddess doesn’t look kindly on those who break their vows. 

And she loves him. Loves him in a way that overwhelms her, terrifying in its scope. She loves him. 

So...why shouldn’t she marry him?

“Yes.” The first acceptance is shaky, half a breath, and Maria clears her throat and meets Asher’s gaze steadily before repeating herself. “Yes. Alright. Yes.”

“Yes?”

Euphoria bubbles up inside her, and Maria finds herself laughing as he rolls her under him, as he kisses her again and again and again while she murmurs, “Yes,” against his lips in between each kiss. 

Later, when the sun is rising over the horizon and light begins creeping through her windows, Maria shifts and stretches, humming softly when Asher presses his lips to her neck. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

“Good morning,” she replies, rolling onto him. 

“So,” she asks. “Where shall we go?”

Asher smiles, soft and sure as he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Anywhere,” he says. “Everywhere. We have the rest of our lives, after all. The rest of forever.”

The rest of their lives.

Forever. 

Somehow, that thought isn’t as terrifying as it once was.


End file.
